Contemplation in Rainfall
by Gedanken
Summary: A storm forces Sherlock and John to remain indoors. In the silence, a question arises, "… Imaginary friends. Did you ever have one?"


The rain came down fast and furious, hitting at the window panes with such a force that they rattled. It was a storm like no other. One that forced Sherlock and John to remain inside, safe and dry. Beneath the sound of the rain, the fire crackled, illuminating the room in a warm glow. Despite the background noise, there was an almost comfortable silence. Apart from the almost constant shifting of Sherlock.

He twirled and flopped in various ways on the couch, frowning only slightly. John sat staring down at his book, he could see the words, but, he wasn't really reading them. Sherlock's restlessness was affecting him, as well. "Sherlock, stop."

"There's nothing to do," Sherlock replied curtly.

"You could read?" John suggested.

"No."

John sighed. "Talk then? Seeing as I can't really focus on this book anymore."

A silence settled between them and John took that as a cue to continue. "Right, well…" He paused a moment to consider in what direction to take his soon-to-be conversation. "… Imaginary friends. Did you ever have one?"

Sherlock straightened somewhat in his seat and raised a brow. The silence was still evident, but, it hinted at a different kind of mood now. Sherlock's expression told John he was free to go on, however whether a response would be necessary was up for discussion.

"I used to have one, when I was little." And suddenly John felt a little awkward. He really shouldn't have started this. "He was a –" He cleared his throat. "A talking dog, called Rocket. He wore a jacket and a top hat…" He trailed off.

Sherlock still remained silent. He was listening, yes. But, he wasn't taking part in the conversation.

"You know what? Never mind," John said after a few moments of feeling uncomfortable. "I'll just, go upstairs." He got up and headed upstairs, taking the book he'd been attempting to read with him.

Sherlock watched him go, his sea-foam eyes reflecting his contemplation. "Imaginary friends, hm?"

As a kid, Sherlock had been an unruly child. It was such a struggle to rein in his wild temperament that he was eventually left to his own devices, his older brother keeping an eye on him from afar.

Trouble was something he always managed to escape from. It was just a typical part of the every urban day for ten-year old Sherlock.

However, friends were hard to come by… He'd always been the odd one out, even when, on those rarer occasions, he'd tried to blend in; be like them, it never worked out. Instead, he finally gave up, just relying on his own form of entertainment in his wanderings and scientific interests.

It was on the morning of a particularly dull Saturday that these events changed.

He'd been in his bedroom for a good three-quarters of an hour, simply scribbling down anything that came into his head that could be used later for those few experiments scattered about the house. The quiet patter of rain against the window pane was dragging in a certain moody air. It left everything feeling that much more devoid of colour.

Now, there was barely anything to do. Jumping on the bed and/or causing a racket with his new violin didn't really appeal. There was only so much he could do with his notes, and his lackey of a teddy bear was downstairs. He couldn't be bothered to get it. He sighed and slumped on the floor, immediately propping himself up moments later and kicking out his legs.

He stayed like that for several moments before a voice echoed throughout the bedroom, "Well, hey there… You look kind of down."

Sherlock scrabbled into a sitting position, a mingle of wariness, surprise and curiosity coursing through his brain. "Who's there?" he called, with a frown.

A figure phased into being directly in front of him, his hands on his hips and head held high. "I'm here. Captain of the Singing Ship, Judas Wright, at your service." And with that, he bowed, one hand dropping to touch his chest in a courteous show.

"You don't look like a captain," Sherlock said.

"Well, I am," Judas replied. "Look." He pulled out a black and golden hat, which looked suspiciously like a pirate's, and plopped it on his head.

"You're a pirate?" Sherlock gasped, staring up at the man wide-eyed.

"Yes indeed." Judas nodded.

"But, wait. How did you get in?" Sherlock's awe vanished, his expression twisting into a frown.

"Through you're boredom." The captain smiled. "You wished for me to come, even if you didn't realize it."

Sherlock blinked and studied Judas for a moment, then got to his feet. He put his hands on his hips, a frown still evident in the downturn of his brows. He felt suddenly wary, but, also strangely curious. This grown-up who had appeared out of thin air didn't seem to be lying, and neither did he seem like a bad sort, even if the strange way in which he had popped up was a little odd.

"Let's play pirates, eh, matie?" Judas grinned at him.

Sherlock smiled back, all worry and wariness gone. "Okay."

His boredom was whipped away by his imagination that day. Together, the captain and his crewmate sailed the many seas, searching out treasure and fighting enemy pirates, and sometimes the odd sea serpent.

When that fateful Saturday drew to a close, Judas winked at Sherlock. "Anytime you need me, I'll come a-runnin'. Just say the word and I'll be there."

"Whenever I'm bored?"

"Whenever you're bored." He smiled down kindly at Sherlock. "The best days for us to set sail are during those times."

With a farewell and a throw of his hat, Judas disappeared. But, it wasn't the last Sherlock ever saw of the Captain of the Singing Ship. He appeared to him many times after that, always there to talk to him and offer him advice, as well as to occasionally set sail on treasure hunts at sea.

However, as Sherlock grew in popularity. His high school days just beginning. Judas gradually faded into the background, until eventually, he was little more than a mere thought at the back of his mind.

It was only on those rare occasions when Sherlock pulled out his old pirate books, or saw a painting of a ship at sea, that it all came rushing back. And the vaguest of smiles would light up his face.

"I once had one myself," Sherlock softly said to the empty air.

He stood and walked over to the window to stare out at the rain, thinking back to those days when Judas accompanied him on various seafaring adventures out on the open sea.


End file.
